The Overflow
by zombie josette
Summary: Nobody else can tell that Vicki isn't Vicki anymore. And he's afraid of her.


Her voice is the same, as are the clothes she wears and the way she flips her hair, but she isn't Vicki anymore. There's something different in her smile - more smug, more entitled - and in her posture, in the lilting tones of her laugh. Even the way she eats and the way she walks. Little things that most people don't notice.

David notices.

She looks at him across the table at dinner, a glance that's almost empty, but he can feel the unwarranted scrutiny after years upon years of such looks from his father. He notices it right then, but nobody else can tell that Vicki isn't Vicki anymore. And he's afraid of her.

But he can tell Aunt Elizabeth.

They're staying at a small hotel downtown. An old establishment, and they've taken up a whole floor, and Aunt Elizabeth is usually in the one she's designated as the temporary office up past her head in papers. David knows she needs to do the work to help Uncle Barnabas, to get their house back, to get their business back - to actually live again, he thinks, or is that what his father would have said? But Aunt Elizabeth always makes time for him. Especially now.

Except now.

She takes her glasses off and sets them on the desk and David thinks that she looks tired. And older. He can see the lines deepening around her eyes. They sit down on one of the beds.

"Miss Winters has gone through a lot," she tells him. Aunt Elizabeth's voice is gentle like it always is, and she smiles faintly. "I think taking a tumble like that off the cliff would change anyone, don't you?"

David nods hesitantly. This isn't how he expected the talk to go. Aunt Elizabeth is supposed to listen.

"We're lucky Barnabas was there to save her."

And that's where it ends. No assurance that Vicki - _his_ Vicki, the _real_Vicki - would come back soon. Just that she's changed.

Maybe Aunt Elizabeth has changed too.

And maybe, once upon a time, he could have asked Doctor Hoffman, but Doctor Hoffman's gone away just like his father. Just like Vicki.

He sits in the hallway, halfheartedly pushing multicolored dinosaurs about on the floor, and thinks that he should ask Uncle Barnabas. But even if Uncle Barnabas knew what happened that night, Uncle Barnabas is in jail. Willie says he's coming home soon, but _soon_ doesn't help when David needs to know _now._

And so he goes straight to the source.

Vicki sleeps late anymore. Sometimes, she doesn't wake up until nearly afternoon, which means their lessons continue until dinnertime. David's awake well before she is, and he fidgets outside her door until he can hear her. And then his little fist is knocking persistently at her door, but mid-knock she swings it wide open with a perturbed glance.

"David." She catches herself. Her look softens, but her tone is still clipped.

The Vicki he knows wouldn't talk like that. But Vicki isn't Vicki anymore.

"Can I talk to you?" he says, hardly above a whisper, and the new Vicki stares at him. David likes to think he can see the excuses running through her mind.

"I suppose, child. If it's quick."

David almost doesn't wait for her to open the door wider - he nearly barrels through the small entranceway and plops himself down on the bed. Vicki is left standing.

He says, "I haven't seen my mother lately."

And Vicki tilts and shakes her head. "Your mother is dead."

That seals it. David knows then and there that he is right, but he's read comic books and seen television shows: there is always a way to bring the hero back to normal. Vicki was kind to him. He owes it to Vicki to try.

"Her ghost," he prods, and when it does no good apart from making this woman shift her eyes to the floor, he adds, "But I thought it might be the hotel. So I was wondering if you'd seen your ghost."

"My ghost?"

"Your ghost! You can't have forgotten her. You said her name was Josette."

There's a short pause and the woman with Vicki's face bursts into laughter. It isn't Vicki's laughter. It's too light and tinkling and high and it makes David shudder and a pit opens up in his stomach.

When the sound subsides, there is nothing but a strange smile on her face, and David quietly asks, "What's so funny?"

"It would be sufficient to say that Josette no longer haunts me."

David skips lunch. He grabs the largest of his dinosaurs and makes his way through town. He knows the way well; before his governesses, he would walk to school, and sometimes Aunt Elizabeth takes him and Carolyn back to the house to check on the progress. But this time, no one accompanies him. He doesn't tell anyone - Carolyn's holed herself up, and Aunt Elizabeth has no time. Willie is visiting Uncle Barnabas and the last person he wants to spend time with is his governess. So David makes the trek alone, nothing but a toy for company as he navigates the streets all the way to the driveway and up the hill to Collinwood.

It hasn't changed from the last time he was here - at least not that David can tell. Collinwood seems to be nothing but wooden beams and bits of cloth, and sometime he catches the stray trail of ashes. But even here, with it open and incomplete, David feels more at home here than he ever will at the hotel. Here they'll be able to hang more pictures, eat family dinners, put up a Christmas tree, and everything will be back to normal.

He'll see his mother again.

Surely Vicki will come back, once she's reminded of where home is.

_David._

The boy whirls around, calling, "Mom?" but it isn't Laura who greets him. It's nothing more than a wisp of a girl, dress soaked, hair still managing to flip despite being doused with water.

"Vicki!"

He _knew it_. And his excitement at seeing his governess - _his_Vicki, the one who believes in him and the one who is his friend, the one who doesn't laugh at him or stare - he drops the dinosaur and goes to fling his arms around her. He can only grin sheepishly when his arms come away soaked, and not holding on desperately to her.

She laughs. And it's _her_laugh, even though it makes a strange echo. She lowers herself down to his height. Nearly half her body disappears through the floor, leaving nothing but a puddle, and that's when it clicks in David's mind.

"You're a ghost."

Vicki reaches out and grabs his shoulders - her hands are damp and not altogether there, like his mother's, but cold instead of warm.

_I need you to help me._

And David doesn't need to be told twice. He already knows that the answer is yes. He knows that he'll help her in any way he can. Because Vicki believed in him. She still does.

Because Vicki never left him.


End file.
